


The Case of the Serial Monogamist

by Roadstergal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexuality, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock decides to try out one of those 'relationship' things.  A companion piece to Kahvi's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/198270">The Simple Question</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Serial Monogamist

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Kahvi for the beta.

Lestrade had once thought of himself as a clever man.

These days, he knew better. Most of the people he knew shared his previous, erroneous assumption - but they were people who didn't know Sherlock.

Lestrade had first met a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes when the man had turned up at a crime scene, naturally enough. Lestrade had been freshly promoted, thanks to his work on the Erickson murder cases, and was in no mood to tolerate gawkers. He couldn't remember his exact words, but it was something to the effect that this wasn't a spectator sport, and this tall, reedy fellow should feel free to get a move on.

He did remember Sherlock's words back to him. He leaned in, murmuring into Lestrade's ear, "You're recently promoted, but you don't think you deserve the job, so you're desperate to do it well and prove yourself to be better than you fear you are. You live in a flat in central London; you could afford bigger further out, but you like living here. You like dogs, but visit friends with them instead of owning one yourself. You're single, as work is far more important to you, and you are either gay or bisexual. And no, I'm not a stalker, as you're thinking right now; this is the first time I've ever seen you."

Many of Lestrade's fellow officers would have sent the man packing. Lestrade was intrigued, however, and asked the fellow to apply his parlor tricks to the case at hand, for a lark. The results were eye-opening.

Sherlock turned out to be either the best or worst thing that happened to Lestrade. The man was hideously aggravating, inexcusably rude, and unquestionably brilliant. He solved the most difficult cases with frightening ease, and irritated Lestrade's subordinates to the point of mutiny. Lestrade had to learn the foreign art of diplomacy.

It did not help that the man was ungodly handsome. Lestrade was, as Sherlock had deduced (Lestrade did not want to know how), gay, and the more Lestrade got to know the man, the more certain he was that Sherlock was uninterested in women. In Lestrade's mind, that meant gay.

But Lestrade was not a slave to physical attraction, and he knew that the two of them were so disastrously incompatible that he never made a move.

* * *

When Sherlock brought a girlfriend in with him to the station one Friday afternoon to pick up a piece of evidence from Sally, Lestrade was not certain whether to be amused or confused, or some combination of the two. He opted for the last option, and was determined to enlighten himself a little. Was this a beard, or something more ineffably Sherlockian? He therefore intercepted Sherlock and the girl on the way out. "Going to introduce me to this lovely lady?" he asked.

"Why?" Sherlock grumbled. "She's perfectly capable of introducing herself."

"Jennifer," she responded with a smile, sticking her hand out towards Lestrade. He shook it. The woman's voice was smooth and posh, her clothing tasteful and expensive. It seemed like an odd match; surely someone with two social graces to rub together would be a more logical choice for an upper-crust girl like that? It couldn't, Lestrade pondered, be for the sex. She might have been a store mannequin Sherlock was required to haul around, for all the warmth he was displaying.

"It's lovely to meet you," Jennifer continued, "Sherlock just never takes me around to meet his friends." She chucked a teasing elbow into Sherlock's side, and he looked at her as if she has just pissed on his leg. Lestrade barely noticed, struggling as he was with concept of him being a 'friend' of Sherlock's.

"How did you two meet?" Lestrade asked, intensely curious. He had her pegged - she was the kind of girl who would date this month's Mr. Right, determined to make it work against all evidence and rationality, until it fell apart and she did exactly the same thing with the next one. That made a certain amount of sense, but why Sherlock?

She put a hand on Sherlock's upper arm. "He helped prove my father innocent."

"Helped." Sherlock snorted. "You lot," he jerked his head at Lestrade, "were set to lock him away. Stupid of you, he was quite obviously not the attacker. And don't give me that blank look, you don't remember because you delegated the case to Anderson. Which you shouldn't; the man's incompetent."

"Er, yes," Jennifer was a little thrown off her stride, "so I wanted to express my gratitude, and things just happened." She smiled brightly.

Lestrade made a few polite noises around the idea that he was very happy for them, made his farewell, and watched them leave. _Things_. Things didn't 'just happen' when Sherlock was around. Their happening or not was something Sherlock was acutely aware of. If he didn't want this woman's attentions, he wouldn't have them; he would find a way to drive her off, screaming if necessary. Yet he was clearly massively uncomfortable with them. What was going on?

Lestrade was determined to find out, but Sherlock seemed equally determined not to give him the opportunity. Their interactions in the next few months were only at crowded crime scenes or by text message.

* * *

Perhaps Sherlock thought Lestrade had forgotten, when he strode into Lestrade's office unannounced on a frigid January afternoon, bearing a pair of novelty handcuffs and an irate explanation of what they were doing at the house of the suspect and why they implicated him in two other similar occurrences. But Lestrade had not.

"How is Jennifer?" he asked, scrounging up an evidence bag.

"I haven't bothered to check," Sherlock replied, dropping the cuffs into the proffered bag. "Being a young woman of means with no obvious physical ailments, I imagine she is as well as can be expected."

"I thought I'd ask, seeing as how you're dating her and all."

"Not anymore," Sherlock replied.

"I'm sorry." The response was instinctive.

"Why would you be sorry? I didn't enjoy it one bit, and she was desperately trying to pretend I was the type of person who would enjoy it. We're both far better off."

"Then why did you do it at all?" Lestrade tossed the bagged handcuffs in the corner to deal with later.

A strange half-smile tugged at the edge of Sherlock's mouth. 'You've been dying to ask me that since you first saw her. You should just ask when you want to know something. I'll either answer or I won't. Waiting seven months won't help." Sherlock slid one lean leg up on the desk. "It was an experiment."

Lestrade straightened, leaning against the wall. "You dated a bird as an experiment?"

"Yes. I deal with relationships all of the time, after all. I wanted to experience one first-hand." The way Sherlock said 'relationships' made it sound as if a relationships were a new style of shirt that he had seen others wearing, but not tried on himself. "It's an idea I've had for a while, and she was convenient."

Lestrade had to laugh. Sherlock frowned at him. "Only you," Lestrade chuckled.

"Only I would approach this rationally, and not get caught up in emotion?" Sherlock replied, appearing vaguely irritated.

"Well put." Lestrade grinned, feeling snarky. "Any more experiments in the future?"

"Of course not. That one was exasperating enough. And it proved what I had always suspected - despite what people who are in them try to tell you, there is nothing about relationships that makes the practice better than the theory."

"Even the sex?" Lestrade could not help digging.

"Especially the sex," Sherlock replied, his lip turning slightly in distaste.

"Then you're not doing it right."

Sherlock slid off of the desk, walked over to Lestrade, and kissed him on the lips. When Lestrade opened his mouth to exclaim in stunned surprise, Sherlock slid his tongue in, and Lestrade found himself experiencing a very sensual kiss indeed - Sherlock's lips were unexpectedly soft and pliable, and his tongue was slick, agile, tantalizing, as Sherlock's lean hand traced the edge of his jaw. Lestrade was panting and erect when Sherlock pulled away.

"You see?" Sherlock replied, coolly. "I haven't the slightest interest in you. And yet theory suffices." He turned and walked briskly out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "You're completely right, it would be disastrous. And one if the few things I have found to admire about you is your ability to avoid romantic attachments."

Lestrade sat down heavily at his desk, feeling like a survivor of some minor natural disaster.


End file.
